


Full Moon Celebrations

by froggy (therealfroggy)



Series: Striptease [2]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/froggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys have returned to camp after their successful evening of money making, and decide to celebrate with a little tequila. Pure smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Moon Celebrations

“I know this doesn't fall within our budget, but after last night, we deserve to celebrate.”

Michael smiled at his brother and offered him a beer. Lincoln accepted it with a grin. “You bet we do!” he said, going for the grocery bag Michael had just put down on the ground in front of their tent. “What else did you get us?”

“Just snacks and candy, really. But I got beer and tequila.”

“Did I hear you mention tequila, Pretty?” T-Bag asked, getting to his feet from where he'd been lounging in front of his and Abruzzi's tent. After searching the town, Michael had concluded that there were no suitable places for the six of them to spend their nights, so they'd agreed on tents. Which would, of course, be practical when they would be going for Westmoreland's money, too.

The tents had been cheap, but there was only enough room for two men in each so they'd had to buy three. That Lincoln and Michael were sharing, was a given; C-Note had stated firmly that he was not sharing with T-Bag and Sucre quickly suggested he and C-Note share one. Apparently, Abruzzi was the only one who dared to sleep next to T-Bag.

“Yes, you probably did,” Michael told the murderer, handing him a small bottle. “Don't drink it all alone; you'll be unbearable.”

“Sure thing, Pretty,” T-Bag said, looking around. “Anyone seen Mister Mafia?”

Lincoln caught Michael's eyes and grinned. “Nope. You think we should go look for him?”

“I'll do it,” T-Bag said quickly, “save you the trouble, Big Brother.”

As the Alabamian strolled off, C-Note grabbed a beer and opened it, swearing. Michael laughed and grabbed a chocolate bar from the bag.

Sucre was confused. “Did I miss something? What's so funny?”

“Trust me, when it comes to T-Bag and Abruzzi, you don't want to know anything more than what's strictly necessary,” C-Note said, sitting down in the dry grass and shaking his head. Understanding dawned on the Puerto Rican's face, and he cursed loudly in Spanish, spitting on the ground.

“You wanna go for a walk?” Lincoln suddenly asked his brother, gesturing with a bottle in the general direction that T-Bag had not walked off in. Michael smirked and nodded.

“Where you going?” Sucre asked, picking a bag of chilli nuts from the grocery bag.

“Just for a walk. Stretch our legs, you know. Talk to my brother,” Michael said, trying to sound casual. It worked; neither Sucre nor C-Note gave them a second glance as they walked off, taking care to go slowly and leisurely.

“You liar,” Lincoln muttered, smiling.

“What they don't know, won't hurt them,” Michael simply replied, brushing his fingers against his brother's discreetly.

***

“Why, John Boy,” T-Bag slurred, approaching the man sitting in the grass, “you shouldn't be sittin' here all by yourself while we're celebratin'. It looks lonely.” With that, he sat down – somewhat less elegantly than usual – on the ground next to Abruzzi.

“What's that you're drinking, Bagwell?” Abruzzi asked, not looking at the smaller man.

“Bad tequila,” T-Bag grinned, “real bad.” He offered the small bottle to Abruzzi, who took a swig and handed the bottle back to the Alabamian.

“You're right. It's bad booze.”

“Well, here's a toast of bad booze to the achievements of bad men,” T-Bag said, lifting the bottle in salute and taking a large gulp.

Abruzzi looked at him, incredulous. “You're drunk,” he said. “Jesus, Bagwell, you're _drunk_?”

“I ain't drunk,” T-Bag protested, fixing Abruzzi with a blurred gaze. Then he sniggered and thrust the bottle at Abruzzi. “Wanna join me not bein' drunk?”

“How the hell can you get drunk on this, Bagwell? Haven't you ever had tequila before?” Abruzzi said, taking the bottle from the other man and swallowing down the rest of the burning liquid.

“I have too, I just ain't been drinkin' since I landed my ass in prison,” the murderer drawled, looking disappointedly on the empty bottle. “And now there ain't no liquid fun left. Guess I'm just gonna have to have fun with you instead...”

“Then I guess this when I protest that you're too drunk to know what you're saying,” Abruzzi growled at the man currently edging unsteadily closer to him, “but actually, _Teddy_... I don't give a damn if you are.”

Then he grabbed the front of T-Bag's tee-shirt, yanked the Alabamian closer and hissed at him, “You understand me?”

T-Bag slung an arm around Abruzzi's neck, pulling the mobster in for a playful kiss. The murderer's tongue was everywhere, his breath smelled of alcohol and he was sniggering and laughing even as Abruzzi's mouth claimed his.

“Pretty's right; we sure have our peculiar ways,” T-Bag said, breaking the kiss to nip at Abruzzi's throat.

“You talk too much, Bagwell,” Abruzzi growled, grabbing T-Bag's shirt and pulling it over his head. Throwing the white material to the grass, he sat back to look at the semi-naked man sitting in the grass before him, panting for more.

T-Bag was thin, with well defined chest and arms, but with deceitfully little visible muscle. Abruzzi knew he could swing a sledge hammer like a madman, but looking down at the pale skin before him in the late afternoon sun, he wondered how the hell this man even got out of Fox River.

“Whatcha lookin' at?” T-Bag said, grinning at the taller man.

“White trailer trash,” Abruzzi growled before shoving the other man to the ground, ridding himself of his own shirt before bending down to hiss in T-Bag's ear, “You got a problem with that?”

“Not really,” T-Bag said, spreading his legs beneath Abruzzi, “'cause I know you like it.”

T-Bag gasped as Abruzzi suddenly grabbed him through his trousers, harshly. “As I said, you talk too much.”

With that, he went to work on T-Bag's belt, the man beneath him giving a single, needy whimper as he was freed from confining jeans.

***

“Where do you learn these things?” Lincoln had trouble breathing as his little brother fastened full lips over his nipple, licking and sucking until Lincoln thought he might explode. Michael nipped gently before shifting his head to provide the other side of Lincoln's chest with the same attention.

“Ex girlfriend,” Michael said, before backing down until his head was strategically placed over his brother's groin. “Want to see some other tricks she knew?”

Lincoln groaned loudly as Michael's mouth took him all in, wet and hot and eager. His hands fisted in Michael's short hair, his back arched off the ground underneath him. Michael's tongue was flicking and stroking, caressing heated flesh with affection and passion alike.

“Oh sweet Jesus!” Lincoln breathed as Michael moaned around him, each sensation enhanced by the knowledge that Sucre and C-Note sat not too far off, as likely to find them as not.

Lincoln grabbed Michael's head, stopping him. “Don't,” he panted, “I want to come inside you.”

Michael smirked, but released his brother from his mouth. “And my mouth doesn't qualify as inside me?”

Lincoln groaned. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Michael said, sitting down astride his brother before dipping his head to kiss him lightly on the lips. “I just love teasing you.”

Lincoln ran his hands up his brother's thighs, over narrow hip bones, up his sides and down again. “Then maybe you need to learn that teasing one's big brother is not a smart thing to do,” he said, grinning.

“I already know,” Michael whispered, raising himself to his knees above the man lying in the grass, “that's why I do it.”

Slowly, carefully, Michael sank down on his brother, willing his body to relax to the unfamiliar sensation. Lincoln wanted to thrust up into Michael's perfect body, but closed his eyes and concentrated on exhaling.

“God, so tight...” Lincoln hissed, feeling the younger man starting to move on top of him.

“Lincoln,” Michael moaned as he leaned forwards, supporting himself on his hands to either side of Lincoln's head. “Oh God, Lincoln; I want you...”

Lincoln was panting as he started thrusting slowly, his hips grinding against his brother's. Michael was beautiful, Lincoln thought as he reached out to caress his cheek, he was beautiful and perfect and that was all he cared about right now. The way his greenish blue eyes were glazed over and full of affection, the way his red lips were swollen from passionate kisses. Lincoln wanted him so badly.

“Michael,” Lincoln moaned, “I love you.”

Michael whimpered and leaned in to kiss his brother. “Yes,” he breathed, “I love you too. Linc, please...”

Lincoln responded to Michael's unspoken plea. He went harder, faster; each thrust pushed them both towards the edge. Lincoln was bucking wildly up into the younger man, groaning and panting but kissing every inch of skin within reach of his mouth.

Michael cried out his brother's name when he came, tensing around him. The sight of Michael's face as he climaxed, the feel of his brother's come on his skin, the sound of his own name spilling from the younger man's lips; it was all so perfect and Lincoln came, pulling Michael close for a searing kiss, letting his little brother steal his groans of pleasure.

“Michael,” Lincoln gasped, “Oh, Michael...”

Michael collapsed over the older man, resting his head on a broad chest and hearing heartbeats race under his cheek. He felt his brother slip out of him, and sighed at the loss. The sigh quickly turned into a contented purr when Lincoln pulled Michael's leg over his own and cased him in completely with big, strong hands.

Michael nuzzled at Lincoln's throat. He loved this; lying in his brother's arms afterwards and just... being. Just breathing and feeling every second of it.

“I love you,” he whispered, feeling drowsy and exhilarated all at once.

“I know,” Lincoln muttered, “and I love you, too.”

***

“Beg for it.”

T-Bag groaned in frustration. Abruzzi had him on his hands and knees in the grass, and the mobster was caressing his back and sides with feather-light touches; so abnormally unlike him. T-Bag refused to beg at first, but it seemed Abruzzi had the self control to last it out and was now drawing teasing circles on his skin, lower and lower, until T-Bag felt like he was loosing it.

“Please,” he said hoarsely, “fuck me.”

T-Bag could all but feel the smug expression on Abruzzi's face as he gripped T-Bag's hip with one hand and himself with the other. But all thoughts of pride and dominance left T-Bag's mind as Abruzzi started pushing into him; not gently but not painfully rough either.

T-Bag sucked in a breath. Abruzzi was suddenly so close to him; he could feel the other man's heavy breath on his neck and the warmth of skin on skin made him shiver. He pushed back against slow, deep thrusts, meeting Abruzzi stroke for stroke.

“You like this, don't you,” Abruzzi snarled, never changing his tempo, not even when T-Bag moaned and arched his body towards the mobster's. “You like being on your knees, taking everything I have. Like a regular bitch.”

“I ain't a bitch, John Boy,” T-Bag panted, his hackles rising. “If you ever –”

“If I ever what?” Abruzzi growled, thrusting hard and relishing in the small cry of pleasure that elicited from the man underneath him.

“Harder,” T-Bag gasped, “harder, oh shit...”

Abruzzi didn't know why, but he went harder. “You're my bitch now, Theodore, and you know it. You even like it,” he grunted, biting roughly at T-Bag's shoulder. The smaller man gave a whimper and pushed back as hard as Abruzzi thrust forward.

“Yes,” T-Bag gasped, “Fuck me, Daddy!”

Abruzzi groaned and upped his tempo. T-Bag moaned loudly when Abruzzi started hitting just that spot, started making him feel so good; he didn't care if he was whimpering, he didn't care that he was Abruzzi's bitch. He just wanted more.

Abruzzi knew it was sick, knew it was wrong. But the way the man beneath him was writhing and whimpering, begging for him to take him harder, faster; it was intoxicating and John Abruzzi was hooked. Pounding into T-Bag with abandon, he growled loudly and came, spending himself in T-Bag's willing body.

T-Bag was so close, almost there, when Abruzzi came. He cried out in disappointment when Abruzzi just slowed and stopped after his own climax, heaving for breath and almost leaning on the smaller man underneath him.

“Christ, don't stop,” T-Bag moaned, bucking his hips helplessly.

“I told you to beg for it,” Abruzzi said, before rolling off the Alabamian, “now beg.”

The murderer was desperate now. “Please, John Boy, finish it,” he hissed, turning to face his tormentor. Abruzzi stared at him, stone faced, until T-Bag started nipping and licking his way up the mobster's thigh, over his hips, laving a trail up his stomach and finally nuzzling pleadingly at his throat.

“Please, John,” T-Bag said huskily in Abruzzi's ear, rubbing the evidence of his need against the taller man's leg.

Abruzzi sneered at the murderer. “Good doggie.”

T-Bag all but crooned in relief as Abruzzi reached down and closed a hand around him, starting to work him roughly. It didn't take more than a few strokes until T-Bag was panting and moaning, clutching at Abruzzi's wrist and tensing up as he came in the mobster's hand.

***

“Christ!” C-Note exclaimed, covering his face with his hands. “They could at least have gone some place we couldn't hear them!”

Sucre, who looked somewhat embarrassed in addition to the nausea that was evident in both the escapees currently sitting by their tent, shook his head wordlessly.

“Michael!” came a strangled moan from somewhere behind them. Sucre felt his cheeks heat up. Judging by the various sounds emitted by Lincoln over the last two minutes, it was obvious he was getting the same treatment as Sucre himself had yesterday night. Only, they'd been paid good money to do it, and all he had to do was close his eyes and pretend it was Maricruz's mouth and not Michael's.

“They're brothers!” C-Note said for the sixth time in half an hour. “Brothers, for fucks sake!”

Gone for a walk, my ass, Sucre thought. They were far enough off that he and C-Note couldn't see them; behind some bushes or something, but close enough that they could hear the particularly loud moans and cries.

And Abruzzi and T-Bag; even worse! They'd been going at it like rabbits since T-Bag disappeared with the tequila, and they weren't even far enough off to be out of sight! Right there, under a few trees, not even a hundred yards away!

“You were right, man,” Sucre said, very deliberately keeping his eyes trained on nothing outside the triangle of tents.

“Right?”

“When it comes to T-Bag and Abruzzi, I _didn't_ want to know more than I had to.”

Trying his very best to ignore the masculine cry of pleasure even the distance between him and T-Bag couldn't stop from reaching his ears, Sucre took a deep drink from his beer and squirmed. Damn it but these guys couldn't handle their tequila. It had to be the full moon.


End file.
